


Slinky Boi and Round Fluff

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [26]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Fluff, I COULDN'T HELP IT I GOT TO TALKING WITH MY FRIEND AND JUST, Redwall AU, THE BABS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:37:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: I just............................... really wanted to.I'm so sorry





	Slinky Boi and Round Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> I just............................... really wanted to.
> 
> I'm so sorry

The tall, scarred otter stumped through the abbey’s open gates with a small barrel strapped to his back and a glower on his face. The little mice and hedgehogs and moles and squirrels hurriedly got out of his way, and he took no notice of them.

But he did reach it to his pocket and drop a small bag on the grass, and when the children swarmed it, they found little individual toffees, enough for all of them. A cheer went up, and they all fell to the sweets with wild abandon.

Only the otter building her slide on the edge of the very large pond that could almost be called a lake saw the other otter’s smile, and she politely pretended not to see.

“Morning, Erik!” she called, smoothing her slide out with her paws. “Looking for Charles?”

“Yes,” Erik replied shortly. “Hello, Raven.”

Raven twitched her whiskers, annoyed as always that Charles came before manners. “He’s in the kitchen, since it’s almost lunchtime. Got anything good?”

“Fish.” And Erik walked past, to the abbey proper.

Raven sighed and shook her head, then turned back to her slide.

~

Inside the abbey, mice in habits greeted Erik cheerfully or tentatively, depending on their natures; he replied with grunts or waves of his paw. Then he made it to the kitchen, and licked his lips, smelling the beautiful cacophony of lunch in progress.

Charles was not the cook, but he often got kitchen-duty due to his limitless imagination when it came to food, and he was quite happy with that. He was not a small woodland mouse like the others; he was just a little bit bigger, just a little bit more reddish-brown in his coat, and he was just as much a foreigner as Erik. He’d come from across the sea, and had the accent to show it.

And Erik loved that about him. An outsider, like him—trying desperately to fit in, but always a little different, a little not-quite-right, always visible in a crowd. Charles was getting better at not being so self-conscious about that.

Erik stopped in the hall just outside the kitchen, and looked down at himself. The scars of his captivity were very visible, the fur gone pale, the skin of the scars themselves pink and shiny. The other otters were nice to him, but he was bigger than they, and quieter, and he was a loner. He had a patch of river that was his alone, and no one dared enter it without his permission. He liked that.

He walked into the kitchen, and, as usual, Charles spotted him first.

“Erik!” Charles waved from his spot chopping vegetables. “Erik, how are you?”

“Fine,” Erik replied, not daring to enter too far lest he get in the way. “I have trout.”

At that, half the mice in the kitchen and the one otter-child washing dishes turned their heads to look at him, eyes bright with anticipation. The head cook, a frail little old mouse who could fillet a fish in seconds, walked up right up to Erik and demanded, “Well, bring them over, lad, and we’ll make a meal out of ‘em.”

Erik followed her obediently to the meat station. Charles quickly finished chopping his carrots, then left his cutting board to ooze through the rushing and hug Erik, the tips of his round ears only reaching the middle of Erik’s chest. Erik wrapped one arm around Charles tightly for a moment, then let go to shrug out of his barrel and set it on the floor.

He had brought plenty of trout; so much, in fact, that some of it had to be set aside to be smoked. He had… perhaps been a little excited, when the trout began to swarm his part of the river. But now Charles and the cook began preparing the fish, and after washing his paws thoroughly, Erik joined them. He was better at getting out the bones, but they were better at gutting and descaling. Erik hated gutting things. It made him think of Before.

Soon the fish were ready for cooking, and Erik was shooed out of the kitchen. He washed his paws again, picked up his barrel, and trudged out of the abbey.

Raven was done with her slide, and she and some of the children were having a grand time, playing in the lake. Erik sat on the bank, slipped his arms free of the barrel’s ropes, and closed his eyes, feeling the sun warm his scars and whiskers and joints, so that he didn’t feel so cold and creaky. He was quite dry from walking all the way here from his home, but he was not the young, vigorous otter he had been when he first arrived at the abbey, ready to fight anyone who looked at him wrong, but desperately, desperately hungry and afraid.

He’d had a wife, but she’d died soon after weaning their children, and the other otters had taken the children away from him, claiming they needed more community than just cold, silent Erik. He could not fault their logic.

But now he was older, and his children didn’t know him, and his only real friends were Charles and Raven. And if it weren’t utterly Wrong, Erik would be asking Charles to be his husband.

Maybe they were already husbands, in their own way. Erik would like that.

Someone splashed him with water and he instantly woke from his half-trance, half-doze. Raven was grinning at him from the lake, looking mischievous.

“Tag, you’re it!” she crowed, and ducked beneath the water.

Erik narrowed his eyes, twitched his whiskers, and slid silently into the water to join the game of tag.

He won, of course; he did not chase the more timid children, or the ones who were poor swimmers, but he often tagged Raven, who would pout but go and tag a child. Erik was careful not to swim too fast or twist too suddenly; he liked children, he didn’t want to frustrate or frighten these ones. Warmed by the toffees, adrenaline, and the fact that he was nice to them in the water, the children had no reservations about tagging him.

The game continued until the bell rang for lunch, and all the children scrambled to get out of the lake and dry off in time. Raven and Erik exited the lake at a more leisurely pace.

“You staying for lunch?” Raven ask Erik.

“Yes,” Erik replied, rubbing his shoulder (he’d over-reached a bit). “There will be trout.”

Raven snorted. “As if you won’t eat more Deeper’n’ever pie than trout.”

Erik pushed her and she grinned.

Apparently it was some sort of holy day, so there were more fancy dishes than usual. Erik dried off with a spare towel in the bathing rooms, then hurried to the dining hall.

Charles had not sat down just yet; he was circling the hall, topping up cups of cider, helping children reach their favorites, talking cheerfully with those sitting to eat. The moment Charles saw Erik, though, he hurried over, and they chose their seats.

Erik deliberately ate a trifle more fish than pie, and drank lots of cider. There was a spicy shrimp soup that he had quite a bit of, since there weren’t very many others who liked it. He got the feeling Charles had made it just for him.

When Erik finished eating, he just stayed by Charles’ side, nibbling apple pie and waiting for Charles. The other mice kept looking at him sidelong, knowing looks mixed with baffled; he did not scowl at them, though he longed to. It didn’t mean anything, that he liked spending time with Charles—or, it _shouldn’t_ mean anything, not to them.

But then lunch was over and everyone went back to their work—except Charles and Erik, who slipped away as soon as they could to the library.

The library was mainly old boring texts that not everyone cared for; but there was a corner filled with pillows and cushions and blankets that, while it was usually reserved for children, was still a haven for anyone who wanted quiet and softness. Charles and Erik threw themselves down on the pillows and curled up together, Erik wrapping around as much of Charles as he could.

“I missed you,” Charles whispered, pressing his snout to Erik’s chest.

“I missed you too,” Erik murmured, softly stroking Charles’ head.

They both kept their ears cocked for any sounds that someone might be coming, but for now they just relaxed, safe and warm and happy in each other’s company.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


End file.
